I didn't think. I didn't blink. I just ran.
The second my foot crossed the fireline, I heard shouting. A firefighter screamed for me to stop, but his voice faded behind the roar of the flames. The heat should've melted me. The smoke should've choked me. But it didn't.
I could breathe.
The world around me was chaos—crumbling walls, glowing ash, glass cracking like ice underfoot. And yet every step felt steady. Like the fire was parting for me. Letting me through.
The girl—blonde, maybe ten years old—was huddled under a desk, coughing hard, eyes wide and full of terror. I dropped down beside her, blocking the falling embers with my arms. One landed on my sleeve, but instead of pain, I felt… nothing.
Just warmth. Familiar warmth.
"It's okay," I whispered, reaching for her. "I've got you."
She hesitated, staring at the flames curling around us like they were alive. Then, slowly, she took my hand. I pulled her close and stood, heart pounding. The ceiling groaned.
We didn't have long.
I didn't know how we made it out. I just moved, dodging debris like I could see it falling before it happened. The fire shifted every time I turned—like it was waiting for me to lead.
By the time we burst out into the street, the crowd gasped.
I looked down. My arms—burn-free. My hoodie—singed but not scorched. The little girl—safe.
The fire never touched me.
Paramedics rushed over. They took the girl. One of them tried to check on me, but I backed away. My ears rang with static. My skin tingled, like lightning had crawled through my veins.
Then I saw the fire again—still burning behind me.
And it moved.
No wind. No fuel. Just… will. It rose high for a second, forming a shape—almost human—and then collapsed.
I stumbled back. No one else seemed to notice.
But I did.
Something inside me cracked open that day. Something old. Something dangerous.
That night, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flames. Not just fire—memories. Visions of things I never lived, places I'd never been.
A red sky.
A stone gate.
A shadowed figure with glowing eyes whispering my name.
And in the center of it all… my father.
Not lost. Not dead.
Smiling.
Watching.
Waiting.
I woke up sweating, heart thudding like a drum. My hand brushed the sketchbook on my nightstand. I flipped to a blank page, grabbed my pencil, and let my fingers move.
By the time I was done, I'd drawn the shape from the fire. The same one from my vision.
A man cloaked in black, flames wrapped around his fists like chains.
And in the corner, scribbled before I could stop myself:
"He's coming."